Terror Trail. Don Pendleton

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      * * *

      KERIM SMILED. The episode had pleased his men. The CIA agent, the focus of their rage, would be a constant reminder of why they were here. He was the true enemy. Not just an American but an agent of the reviled secret agency that was dedicated to the killing of true Islamic warriors. He would play on that each time he spoke to his men. He would build on the anger already instilled in them so that when they were sent to America and unleashed, their fury would be that of a thousand devils.

       “Tell me, Ibrahim,” he said, “how should we use this CIA murderer?”

       Calvin James, who had been at Kerim’s side during the entire incident, considered his answer.

       “We should benefit wisely. Be certain to gain the most we can from him. Use him to embarrass the American government. Seeing him captured and not being able to do anything to save him will leave them in an awkward position. Their opponents will use this against them, too. Washington will feel the backlash from all quarters.”

       “Wisely said, my brother,” Kerim said. “I was right to choose you. Understanding the way the Americans think is half the battle. He smiled. “Like our CIA friend, I will use you wisely, as well, Ibrahim Hammid.”

       James was glad his thoughts were not available to Kerim. The way he was feeling right then would have exposed his true hostility toward Hand of Allah and everyone associated with it. The way the terrorists had reacted filled James with revulsion, even though he knew this was the only way they could have reacted. Lang was a living example of what Kerim had been preaching to his men, so they had shown their contempt by savagely beating him while he was helpless to resist. The Phoenix Force commando was not so naive that he didn’t expect something like this to happen. Even so it was hard to take. Having to stand there and watch had been difficult. As James had decided earlier, this was not the time to act.

       Not yet.

       But it was coming.

       He realized Kerim was speaking to him again.

       “My brother, do you not hear me?”

       James snapped out of his thought process.

       “I hear you.”

       “Is something wrong?” Kerim asked, staring at James.

       “My thoughts were elsewhere, Kerim. I ask your forgiveness. I was still marveling at Allah’s gift of the American. Delivered into our hands at His choosing. May His blessing be upon us all.”

       Kerim nodded. “Our day is coming.”

      “Inshallah,” James said.

       Kerim began to walk away. He stopped and turned around.

       “Do this one thing for me, Ibrahim. Take charge of the American. Look to his injuries. Minister to him. Feed him. If we are to follow Allah’s intentions, then we need to keep this pig alive. Our brothers have had their thirst quenched for now. I will give the order that Lang is under your protection and he must not be harmed until I give the order. Allah is a compassionate God, so we must abide by his example.”

       “But he stays in the cage,” James said. “He must not be allowed the opportunity to escape.”

       “Again, wise thinking, my brother,” Kerim said. He handed James the key to the metal cage’s lock. “I trust you, brother. I know you will not disappoint me.”

       James watched Kerim cross to his hut and vanish inside. He hefted the key in his hand.

       Believe what you want, Kerim, he thought. In the end I am going to disappoint you big-time.

      CHAPTER NINE

      One of Kerim’s followers was the camp’s medic. Through Kerim the man was ordered to tend the beaten American. The terrorist did as he was told with a sullen attitude. He was of the opinion that Lang should be left to die, but his allegiance to Hand of Allah dictated he obey whatever Shaia Kerim instructed.

       James unlocked the cage and Lang was brought outside and propped against the bars. The binding cord was removed from his wrists. He was still barely conscious and the beating had left him slightly concussed. In the time since the assault his face and body had begun to show the extent of the attack’s brutality. When the blood and sand was cleaned from his face James was able to see how badly bruised the man was. Great blue-and-yellow swellings distorted his cheeks and eyes. His flesh had split in a number of places. When the medic opened his shirt Lang’s body showed similar discoloration. The way he winced when his ribs were checked suggested some were either badly bruised or possibly cracked.

       As he worked on Lang the medic carried on a mumbling litany of Arabic. James was unable to understand what the man was saying. The vicious tone in the man’s voice told James it was nothing pleasant.

       His work completed, the medic gathered his kit and left James with Lang. James had brought food and water for the CIA man. He raised a flask and tried to give Lang a drink. Most of the water dribbled down Lang’s chin, but some slid down his throat. When James leaned back he saw that Lang’s eyes were open and staring at him.

       “What’s this for?” Lang asked. “Strengthening me up for round two?”

       “No. I want you ready for when we get out of here,” James replied.

       “You want me to run so you can shoot me in the back? What is it with you bastards? Not enough guts to kill a man face to face?”

       “I can’t answer for Kerim’s men. I’m not one of them. Name’s Roy Landis. Undercover while I try to dig out information on Hand of Allah.”

       The CIA agent offered a cynical smile that looked all the more grotesque because of his swollen face.

       “Sure. And I should take your word for that?”

       “They see through my cover we’ll be sharing this cage.”

       Lang’s gaze flickered over James’s shoulder, and James picked up the sound of someone coming up behind him. He saw a shadow on the sand to his right.

       “Is he still alive, my brother?” James recognized Kerim’s voice.

       “By Allah’s good grace the infidel has not died. Praise be to Allah the merciful.”

       Kerim made a sound in his throat and strode by.

       “So why is everyone speaking English?” Lang asked. He stared at James through his good eye. “Is this some kind of psychological trick to get me on your side?

       “They’re all speaking English to get familiar with the language. There’s a series of strikes being planned by these guys on American soil. I need to find out about them.”

       James maneuvered Lang back into the cage. He placed food and water next to the CIA agent.

       “One of us is crazy,” Lang muttered. “I’m still trying to figure out whether you’re screwing with my head.”

       James managed a quick grin through the bars as he locked the door of the cage.

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